


by moonlight we'll go (together)

by violet_sunset



Series: five shining stars (a series of shinee oneshots) [3]
Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 22:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_sunset/pseuds/violet_sunset
Summary: Taemin comes to consciousness as he's walking through a forest. He's taken in by four strangers, but he can't seem to remember much of the past few days.





	1. a chill i can't get over

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is vaguely based off an idea I got while watching Taemin's "Day and Night" MV. Thusly, all chapter titles are lyrics from the song.

Taemin isn’t sure how long he’s been walking these woods for, but he’s sure by now his legs should be burning even though they aren’t. Track really paid off, in that regard. God, he hopes he finds someone soon, because he needs water. He’s not feeling the thick ache of dehydration yet, but the sunset through the trees tells him it’s been too long since he last rested.  
  
Just as Taemin thinks this, he sees a flicker of light through the trees ahead. It isn’t from the sun, because it’s dim and broad and too close to the ground. Taemin starts to push through the heavy foliage with longer strides. Though it’s only a minute at most before he reaches the source of the light, it feels like years of anticipation culminating into the view of a wide cottage.  
  
A series of windows across the side of the cottage shine warm lamplight onto the clearing surrounding, and Taemin nearly cries with relief. As it is, he hurries up to a side-door and taps his knuckles against it rapidly. He’s quivering from head to toe, hoping beyond hope these are hospitable people.  
  
Footsteps come from within, drawing nearer. The door-lock clicks, and Taemin takes a hesitant step back as the door cracks and a curious eye peeks out.  
  
“You travelling?” asks the owner of said eye.  
  
Taemin blinks. He supposes he is, in a way. “Yes,” he answers shortly.  
  
The door opens wider, revealing a lanky man with sharp features and an eyepatch covering his left eye. His hair is dark black and pushed back off his forehead, framing his pale, appraising expression. Taemin is a little intimidated, in all honesty.  
  
“Um, can I come in?” Taemin asks nervously. “I’m lost, and I’ve been walking forever, and I just need somewhere to rest for a bit before I…” he trails off, not really knowing what he plans to do after this. He tries to think back, realizes he has no idea why he even started walking, or how he got into these woods. He glances over his shoulder at the tree-line, which now looks dark and ominous like the cold gaping mouth of a giant. Where did he come from?  
  
“What’s your name?” the man in the doorway asks. His voice is pleasant, higher in register but not cloying.  
  
“Lee Taemin,” Taemin answers reflexively. Then he turns back to the door. “You?”  
  
“Call me Key,” the man responds. “Come in before you freeze. It gets cold at night.”  
  
Taemin obliges eagerly, shuffling across the threshold and stamping his feet lightly on the hardwood. He doesn’t feel the impact shimmy up his legs. They must be numb from all the walking. While Key shuts and latches the door behind him, Taemin takes a moment to survey the room he’s just entered. It seems to be a tea-room type of space, sequestered to this corner of the ground floor and bracketed by plush sofas. A half-solved puzzle sits on a dark-finish coffee table whose surface has certainly seen better days.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Key asks. “I’m setting out dinner for the others.”  
  
Taemin thinks. He hasn’t eaten since… he can’t remember. A while, probably. The soft glow of the cabin interior is making his tired head fuzzy. He nods. “Thank you.”  
  
Key flashes a small smile. “Course. We get travellers through here all the time. They tend to come and go quick, but if you’re not in any hurry you’re welcome to spend a while here.”  
  
Taemin still hasn’t quite remembered where it is he’s going. He thinks he recalls the barest flicker of someone’s face. Two hands in the collar of his shirt, a pair of familiar lips mouthing his name, begging him for… something. To stay, he thinks they’re saying. Who was he leaving? And why? Taemin shakes his head to clear it, then reaches up with both hands and adjusts his navy blue Balenciaga cap. “I’ll stay if you’re sure,” he accepts. “I’m not really going anywhere specific, I don’t think. Just sort of… passing.”  
  
Key shoots him a somewhat knowing smile and beckons him to follow. “I hear that one a lot,” he alludes, but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he leads Taemin through the tea room and a few game tables. Air hockey and pool. They pass through a doorless frame into the next room, a true living space with a hearth and a big L-bend couch to the left. On Taemin’s right is a pair of armchairs seated around a tiny three-legged table and a radio. A hall stretches into the back of the cottage, adjacent to the chairs. Further along the living room, the space changes to a dining area. Taemin sees the food first, and then the people.  
  
There’s what can only be described as a feast laid out across a magnificent oriental table-runner. Roast duck, clam noodle soup, green curry, sweet and spicy shrimp, and an assortment of boiled and roasted vegetables, centered by a bowl of fresh chopped fruits. Taemin doesn’t feel a pang of hunger like he expected, but he does know he’d like nothing more than to dig into this meal. He only notices the people already seated at the table when he feels all the eyes in the room swivel to him.  
  
Three other men are sitting around the food, their plates already filled and their gazes expectant. Taemin takes a brief moment to catalogue their faces. A beautifully tanned man with big sad eyes and a defined jaw. Another man beside him, broader in the shoulders and harder in the eyes. The third slouches in his chair with a refined air about him, face open and eyes unassuming. He seems both youthful and wise at the same time.  
  
“Um, hi,” Taemin says, and lifts his hand in an awkward wave.  
  
The third man with the kind expression tips his chin at Taemin in a type of greeting.  
  
Key puts a hand on Taemin’s shoulder and nudges him forward until they can both sit down at the dining table. He takes the spot at the head of the table and takes up Taemin’s plate to serve him. Key talks while he does so. “Taemin, these are the others I mentioned. Jonghyun is the one with the puppy-dog eyes—” he gestures to the man with the jaw beside Taemin, who waves. “The gigantic one over there is Minho,” Key continues. “And our oldest is Jinki,” he concludes, gesturing to the refined man slumped in his seat. “Everyone, this is Taemin. He’s a traveller passing through.”  
  
The three all smile. “Hi Taemin,” they say in unison. It’s almost creepy, except that they chuckle at themselves after and turn to their food again.  
  
Key sets Taemin’s plate in front of him. He picks up the silverware on his placemat before realizing it’s a bit odd that this seat was made up for apparently no one before he arrived out of nowhere. Taemin looks at the food Key gave him and sees only his favorites. Clam noodle soup and duck, mango slices and cherries. He wonders how Key knew what he wanted without him having to say anything.  
  
Before Taemin can ask, Jonghyun and Minho resume some fond argument they sound like they’ve been having for ages. It’s something to do with coin tosses and probability, and honestly it sounds like they’re arguing just for the sake of being assholes to each other. Taemin loses track halfway through, focusing instead on eating his food and sneaking sly glances at Jinki and Key, who are eating in companionable silence beside each other. Sometimes the two exchange looks, little wordless messages. Taemin wonders what they mean.  
  
By the time dinner is done, Jonghyun and Minho have progressed to talking around vicious mouthfuls of food, gesturing emphatically with their chopsticks. Key rolls his eyes at them and starts clearing away plates. Jinki makes purposeful eye contact with Taemin and then tips his head questioningly. “You want me to show you where the guest room is?”  
  
Taemin nods, rising as Jinki does. He looks down at his empty plate as Key lifts it away and realizes he never asked for any water. His throat isn’t necessarily dry, but he recognizes the very basic need for water anyways. He looks shyly to Jinki as he rounds the table.  
  
“Can I get a glass of water?”  
  
Jinki’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh shit, yeah. Sorry, we usually offer.”  
  
Usually. Key mentioned they get a lot of visitors, but the cottage is in such a remote place. Taemin wonders just why this area is so heavily trafficked. Regardless, he follows Jinki down the little hall beside the armchairs to the third door on the right. It’s a corner room, decorated in soft baby blues, warm creams, and dotted with wooden accent furniture. It looks like a very expensive imitation of something ‘quaint.’ Taemin walks into the room ahead of Jinki when he realizes the man isn’t going to enter. He runs his fingers over the cold bronze knobs of the dresser drawers.  
  
When Taemin turns back to the door, Jinki is gone and Key is crossing the threshold with a tall glass of ice water in his hand. Taemin doesn’t remember if he spoke loud enough for Key to hear, or if Jinki had enough time to tell him of Taemin’s request. He takes the glass of water with a wordless nod of thanks, a tight smile on his lips. He’s nervous now, but not the usual sick clenching in his belly. Just the nagging forethought of possible danger. Everything moves strangely here — communication and time, gestures and feelings.  
  
“I hope you can sleep well,” Key says. “I know sleeping in new places always gives me the creeps. I can bring you a candle for the nightstand if you need one.”  
  
Taemin nearly lifts an eyebrow at the mention of a candle. That’s a little outdated. He just smiles instead. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” He’s never been that scared of the dark. The only things he’s scared of are bugs and… well. Dying, he supposes. But that’s more the idea of leaving things unfinished.  
  
He feels a flicker of something. A memory of a feeling, and the sensation is like lying down in a river with the water running up his body, pushing against, backwards, freezing sluice tickling his ears. He hears a voice saying his name in frantic staccato bursts. Hands in his hair, slippery with something warm and disturbing. Taemin’s vision starts to blur, brighten, a flash of light and form. He can hear breathing, panicked and sharp and failing. Dying. A nightmare?  
  
“You okay?” Key asks.  
  
Taemin blinks hard and shakes his head to clear it, reaching up to straighten his cap afterwards. “Yeah, I’m good.” He wonders where these invasive experiences — memories? — are coming from. “I think I’m just tired. I walked a long way today.”  
  
Key smirks, then tips his head at the glass of water in Taemin’s hand. “Don’t forget to drink that. Sweet dreams.”  
  
The way Key is looking at him feels oddly tender. Taemin’s cheeks heat up and he praises the deities for his naturally tan skin. He watches Key retreat back through the hall before glancing down at the glass in his hand. The condensation has begun to slip in pearly drops down his wrist. He finds the nightstand prepared with a coaster, clay and seemingly hand-painted. It’s glazed, so he doesn’t worry about setting the dripping glass atop it. Then he undresses to his t-shirt and boxers, tucking his cap on one of the posts of the headboard. He climbs under the soft sheets and the fluffy comforter, the smell of fresh laundry in his nose and the pillows perfectly firm under his head. He wiggles his bare feet to get comfortable, and sleep comes before he can really process it.


	2. all the poorly drawn memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closer Taemin thinks he gets to grasping at more memories, the faster they slip away.

Laughter from down the hall is the first sound of the morning. Taemin’s eyes open easily, as if he’d just closed them to blink. He sits up and ruffles his hair. He waits for a yawn, or the urge to yawn. Neither comes, so he turns around and grabs his hat before he can think about it. He doesn’t necessarily want to leave it in the room, but he can’t just wear it all the time. That’d be weird.  
  
Taemin glances around the room and spots his jeans folded on the bottom corner of the bed. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and dresses quickly, then velcros the strap of his hat through his belt loop. There. He looks around the room and sees a clean, soft yellow hoodie on a hanger on the doorknob. Someone must’ve left it there while he was asleep. Cute.  
  
While he doesn’t necessarily like yellow, Taemin can deal in the name of accepting hospitality. He pulls on the hoodie and feels a sense of calm overwhelm him. The smell on the fabric is like faint lavender and black tea, and Taemin feels like he could curl up and sleep some more. But he needs to figure out where he is first.  
  
It occurs to Taemin that he isn’t scared. He knows that, under any other circumstances, he’d be horrified that he can’t remember anything about the past few days. What if these people really are kidnappers? Has he been lost in these woods before? Is he being drugged? Everything feels a little duller than normal. He hasn’t been hungry, thirsty, tired, in pain, or anything since he found himself in the woods.  
  
There’s a knock on the door. Jinki lets himself in. Taemin squares his shoulders as he turns to face the man, almost self-conscious of the way he must look. He’s a good runner, but he’s still tiny and pretty and he’s always been easy to pick on.  
  
“Where are we?” Taemin asks, priding himself when his voice doesn’t shake.  
  
Jinki blinks. “You don’t know?” he asks. His face is carefully composed.  
  
Taemin squints. “Know what?”  
  
“No, I —” Jinki cuts himself off. “I just figured you would know where you came from, is all. Are you alright? We should have checked you for a head injury. I mean, you were alone in the woods, and —”  
  
Taemin waves his hands to shut Jinki up so he can think. “Hold up, hold up, I just… So am I like… kidnapped?” He truly can’t remember anything about getting here, but he’s sure he’d remember something if he’d been drugged. Even just a flash of the inside of a car. And why would they leave him in the woods? Why not just bring him back here straight away?  
  
“What the hell?” Jinki asks with a laugh. “Of course not. You showed up last night out of the cold. You really don’t remember anything?”  
  
Taemin shakes his head. “Nothing from before I got here. I know basic things about myself. I — I was on the track team, this is my favorite hat,” he points at the cap on his belt-loop. “My name is Lee Taemin, my mother loves me a lot, I know all my favorite foods, I don’t like the color yellow, I’m…” he stops before he can say that one. He’s not too keen on revealing his sexuality to a stranger quite yet. “I’m… I don’t know why I’m here. I feel like I was going from one place to another on some sort of trip, but I don’t know where I was trying to end up.”  
  
A brief memory bursts into Taemin’s mind like a splash of color across a previously blank canvas. A voice telling a group of people to get comfortable for the ride, the rumble of a bus engine.  
  
“I think I was on a trip with the track team,” Taemin guesses aloud.  
  
Jinki nods patiently. “What then?” he prompts.  
  
Taemin furrows his brow, gaze unfocusing to stare into the middle-distance as he concentrates on that memory. But the closer he thinks he gets to grasping at more memories, the faster they slip away. “I don’t know,” he admits. He refocuses.  
  
Jinki’s face looks incredibly sad for a brief moment, and then he schools his expression into a wan smile. “Well, if you’re hungry you can come have some breakfast. The kids aren’t too keen on it, but I can whip us up some oatmeal?”  
  
Taemin shakes his head, trying not to giggle at the fact that Jinki just called three fully grown men 'kids' like some middle-aged dad. “I’m not a breakfast person,” he admits, a little preoccupied still with trying to remember the past few days. Did the bus crash? Is that why he can’t remember anything? But surely he’d have visible injuries if he suffered a blow to the head strong enough to induce amnesia. And where was everyone else? Why can’t he remember waking up at the crash site? Did he just get lost in the woods?  
  
“Alright, well,” Jinki fumbles. He seems at a loss. “Make yourself at home. We’ve got the radio and some puzzles and the kitchen and a garden if you’d like to sit outside. Just be careful and don’t wander off too far. It’s easy to get lost in the forest, and we’re supposed to get a storm through here soon.”  
  
Taemin nods listlessly, still pondering his situation. As Jinki leaves, Taemin has the funny thought that he cleverly avoided the question of where exactly they are. He still isn’t sure what region he’s in, or if he’s even still in Korea. The track team could’ve boarded a plane for all he knows. Actually, maybe he could trace this all back through what bare details he remembers, uncover it piece by piece like unearthing a fossil.  
  
So, Taemin is fairly sure he was on a trip with the track team. He tries to envision the bus he might’ve been in, and to his surprise finds that he remembers the pattern of the seats. He sits on the edge of the guest bed and fiddles with the bill of his cap. He remembers staring out the window with someone’s head on his shoulder. A close friend. A familiar friend, with warm brown hair and sun-warmed skin and a brilliant smile and —  
  
A voice broken apart by sobs, face tracked with tears and blood and —  
  
“Taemin!”  
  
The grief-shattered voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Taemin jerks at the sound of it, looking around the guest room for its source. The rush of his own racing heart in his ears is a stark contrast to the sudden silence around him. Even Taemin’s own breathing feels violently loud as he strains to hear anything else. But that disembodied voice is gone, and the room is empty aside from Taemin, and he is no closer to understanding why he’s here, or what happened to him.  
  
Was the voice a memory? It must have been. There’s no other explanation, is there?  
  
Taemin’s stomach growls, and it startles him. That’s the first time since he’s been in this house that he’s felt hunger. It almost shocks him more than the voice had. He traces his fingers along the frayed seams of his cap and contemplates Jinki’s offer to make himself at home. He’s not a breakfast person, but maybe he can find something to snack on while he explores this house and tries to piece his thoughts together.  
  
After all, Taemin will have to leave this place eventually, and he can’t very well wander off without knowing where he’s going, or where he is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #revelations are fast-approaching  
> #sorry if this chapter is more introspective than anyone was anticipating  
> #it's just rlly fun to write taemin's internal thoughts  
> #he's just so OwO about everything  
> #we'll get more interactions between him and the boys soon tho  
> #also jinki has BDE  
> #big dad energy  
> #i'll go to my grave with that characterization  
> #also i had to increase my projected chapter limit lol  
> #4 chapters just wasn't gonna cover it all


	3. pass me by now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taemin comes to a realization about where he is, and it raises one important question:  
> "What am I supposed to do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoy!

The first thing Taemin notices about the house is that it’s very disorienting in the day-time. The interior decor doesn’t follow any set of aesthetics, probably due to the fact that four young guys were occupying the space. The main walls are barn wood, mainly bare of art except for a few particular pieces. The windows seem recessed in all the floor and table clutter and shelved knick-knacks, so he can barely peer out of the house to see his surroundings. He knows for sure that there are distant rain clouds gathering in the otherwise pale blue sky.  
  
Jinki, Jonghyun, Minho, and Key are somewhere in the small cabin of a building, but for the life of him, Taemin can’t figure out where. He thinks maybe there’s an upstairs and that the stairwell is facing an odd wall he hasn’t looked at yet, but the whole layout of the house is like something he’d come up with in a dream. He decides to start with corners. He stations himself in the living room he’d seen last night, next to the radio and the armchairs, and walks the length of that wall. It isn’t a supporting wall, but a facade for the house’s structure. The wall carries all the way past the door frame into the game room with the puzzle and the door where Taemin first entered. Okay, so far it’s a one-story house.  
  
There’s an accent wall in this room, covered in a dark blue wallpaper patterned with pale yellow and white flowers. Taemin isn’t sure what type of flowers those are, but the wall is a mesmerizing pattern. He finds himself tracing the interlocking, neverending trails of flower stems that curl and wind and follow each other from floor to ceiling. How he didn’t notice it last night is a mystery. Eventually, Taemin drags his eyes away from the wallpaper and looks down at the half-finished puzzle on the table. It’s a fairly difficult landscape puzzle of a forest not unlike the one Taemin knows lies beyond the house. There’s a small dirt path leading away from the supposed viewer of the scene, and he can just make out the barest edges of an asphalt road. It’s odd, almost unlike a puzzle someone would manufacture. It seems so randomly placed, like a photograph or a memory.  
  
More confused than before, Taemin turns to face the opposite wall and follows it back into the dining room. The kitchen and dining room create the squared end of this half of the house. Okay. So, maybe there’s not an upstairs. Then where are the others? Maybe in their bedrooms? Taemin spins in a broad circle and sees that the dividing wall between the kitchen and dining room is more like an island of a partition. It’s no more than two meters long, and beyond it Taemin sees a set of french doors that lead to somewhere. He passes through the kitchen towards those doors.  
  
Cautiously and quietly, Taemin rests a hand on the wood of the doors. It’s faintly cold, and he realizes these doors must lead out to a patio. He takes a steeling breath and secures his grip on the door-handle closest to him. He twists, pulls the door inward, and steps out into a scene of blinding light. Taemin blinks a few times to dispel the beams, and his vision clears to a little rock garden complete with stepping stones and a manmade spring. Taemin walks across the concrete patio towards the garden, where the trickling of water seems to call for him.  
  
The stepping stones are a glazed grey terracotta, pebbled with blue gems and common crystals, and Taemin likes the way the rounded, polished surfaces of the gems impress their bodies into his bare soles. The chill of the day is a nip at Taemin’s ankles that hurries him down the path. Cold. Another thing he feels. Taemin wonders if his body has been in shock, and if he’s finally coming back to himself. Is that why he can’t remember what happened?  
  
The trickle of the spring grows louder as he draws nearer. Taemin picks his way over the stepping stones until he finds a bench beside the spring, shaded by a few overhanging tree limbs that have dropped their bristles and leaves. He clears a spot for himself on the bench and sits, staring into the fracturing water as it shuttles past.  
  
The stream awakens an image in Taemin’s mind. Dark brown eyes and the steady drip-drip-drip of something. Taemin’s other senses blur. The bench beneath him fades, the patter of raindrops on asphalt rises like a wave preparing to crash. A hand on his chest, a thick choking fluid in his throat and sticky crimson on the face of the person above him. Pain, searing, brighter than staring directly into the sun, spiking up from his legs. His shattered legs. His dying body, frantic wheezing.  
  
A leaf touches Taemin’s skin, fallen from its branch, and suddenly he is back in his living body, the one beside the stream. He gasps, realizes he hasn’t been breathing. He grabs onto the bill of his cap to ground himself, tearing the velcro open and unhooking the hat from his belt loop. He settles it on his head, letting several locks of his hair fall frustratingly down his forehead to tickle at his eyelids. Taemin squeezes his eyes shut and tries to steady his breathing.  
  
Then, it occurs to him. Taemin reaches up and fiddles with a length of his hair. It’s a dirty blonde, well-treated and recently flattened. A hairstyle he hasn’t in weeks. Right before the team went on their annual getaway, Taemin dyed his hair back to brown. He remembers because Jongin was there, helping him reach the parts he might mess up, ruffling Taemin’s hair with a towel after he got out of the shower, passing him sodas over video games later that night and telling him good night and looking beautiful and Taemin remembers dreaming of him like always and waking up with the smell of Jongin’s strawberry shampoo in his nose.  
  
Dark brown eyes, fingers in Taemin’s hair, palm on his chest, smile, screaming, Mario Kart, the bus. Taemin’s world shatters. He sees the stream in the back of his mind, like a digital rendering of a place. He died, in the bus crash, and Jongin held his body as he did. And yet, Taemin is here, in this house. He looks up at the sky, sees the rain clouds gathering, but they look like lies. Taemin wonders if he would even feel the bone-soaking storm if he sat here when it began. Drip-drip-drip as the blood poured out of the wound in his head, the gash in his side from the metal frame of the bus collapsing.  
  
Drip-drip-drip.  
  
Taemin has a wild, fantastical thought. A fear that feels more like a nightmare. He stands shakily from the bench and walks briskly back towards the house, feeling for all the world like his legs will give out beneath him. He doesn’t feel totally real, and maybe he isn’t, if this wild conjecture turns out to be true.  
  
Inexplicably, when Taemin pushes open the french doors and reenters the house, the man with the square jaw and the puppy eyes is standing in the kitchen at the sink. He doesn’t have a glass in his hand, and isn’t washing anything out. He’s just standing there, listless and looking at the dark blue and grey tiled backsplash. Taemin swallows heavily.  
  
“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he asks.  
  
Jonghyun turns his head slowly, eyes even sadder than usual. “It took you a while to figure it out,” he replies. “We were starting to worry.”  
  
Taemin wants to feel the weight of shock, hear the rush of blood in his ears, taste the cold metallic snap of panic. Instead, he feels nothing. Just an empty sadness and a distinct awareness of the cap on his head. Jongin’s gift to him. “Where am I? Heaven? The afterlife?”  
  
Jonghyun leans one hip against the counter. “An afterlife, of sorts. Most of the souls who come to us already remember their deaths, and are ready to move on. Some, like you, come to us with tethers that keep from leaving the most important things in their lives.”  
  
“Tethers,” Taemin mutters. Jongin. “Am I the only one who died? In the crash?”  
  
Jonghyun shrugs helplessly. “I don’t see the circumstances of people’s deaths. I can’t know for sure.”  
  
Taemin wonders if he can cry in the afterlife. He tries to let the pit of grief in his gut fester and grow, infect and swell. But nothing happens. Just that tiny pit, enough to nag at his tear ducts but not enough to spill over. That alone is enough to break Taemin’s will.  
  
“What am I supposed to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #yEET the big twist is out  
> #it's not really a twist tbh  
> #but like ye taem is finally aware  
> #also sorry for anyone who's like  
> #reading my exo fic and is like 'wheres the updates???'  
> #my uni finals nearly did me in  
> #but i'm getting back on track slowly babey


	4. without leaving anything behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circumstances of Taemin's fate seem unfair, and he's just desperate enough to make a last ditch attempt at seeing Jongin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter! Only two more to go (and yes, two for sure, I know I changed the chapter limit before but this time I'm certain). Hope this chapter isn't too heavy <3

Jonghyun calls for a “Family Meeting” in the sitting room. They all gather around the coffee table with the half-finished puzzle. Taemin is joined by Key and Jinki on the couch, while Minho and Jonghyun sit on the floor with their legs crossed underneath the coffee table.  
  
“So, you’ve remembered?” Jinki asks softly.  
  
Taemin nods. He’s achieved a sense of total numbness.  
  
“Are you… prepared to talk about this?” Key asks. He sounds vaguely uncomfortable.  
  
A spike of anger flashes through Taemin’s body like a flame. He isn’t at all prepared to talk about this, but the fact that Key seems inconvenienced by his shock is unacceptable. Taemin is dead. He’s dead and he left Jongin behind and he’s _dead_ ; he’s fucking dead.  
  
“What is this place exactly?” Taemin asks, not satisfied with the earlier answer.  
  
Jonghyun sighs, but replies. “We’re a midway point between life and death. Yes, you’re dead, but you haven’t moved on yet. Your spirit is still hanging on to something in the living world, and you’ll only move on when you’re ready to.”  
  
Taemin nods, processing the information even as he formulates another question. “Why am I still in this body? If I’m just a soul, why is everything… physical?”  
  
“It makes the transition from life to death easier,” Minho replies. “The familiar is comforting to the newly dead.”  
  
Taemin blinks heavily. “So, then what happens when I move on? Will I lose my memories of life? Will I lose my body?”  
  
“Not entirely,” Minho says. “You won’t have a body, or a mind in the way you imagine. But your memories have crafted your soul, so they’ll stay with you when you move on.”  
  
That, at least, gives Taemin hope. “So my family and friends can find me when they die?”  
  
“Yes,” Key says firmly. “Your souls are bonded from life. When they die, they’ll join you in the endless tapestry of the universe.”  
  
Taemin oddly misses the ability to feel his own body. He knows it would feel heavy, his throat tight, his neck hot, his hands tingling. “Is there some way I can let everyone know I’m okay? Like, that I’m safe and in a good place?”  
  
A prolonged silence prompts Taemin to look up. He catches the four exchanging uncertain looks before they all level him with a reluctant frown. Taemin braces himself for disappointment.  
  
“At this point,” Jonghyun starts, “Your only option now is to move on and wait for your loved ones to join you in death. They’ll receive signs from the universe, however, that remind them of you. You won’t be truly gone from them, if that’s what your worried about.”  
  
Taemin really wishes he could cry. “I never —” he starts, but cuts himself off. His mind is clouded with only Jongin. Soft tan skin and shy smiles and sharing sodas and beach trips and movie nights and… Taemin stands from the couch abruptly. “I need a minute,” he blurts out, and books it for the back of the house.  
  
Upon exiting into the garden once again, Taemin is confronted by the falseness of this place. Time moves differently here. It is already late evening, and the cicadas are chirping in the high branches. Taemin stumbles to the bench beside the stream and sits down hard, staring blankly into the distance.  
  
The sun continues to set, the trees darkening and the gravel garden glittering from the aftermath of the rain. Taemin squeezes his eyes shut as the last dregs of natural sunlight drain over the horizon. He feels like part of himself goes away with the sun. A gaping hole of want fills his chest. He wants Jongin. How is he supposed to move on when his best friend is somewhere back on earth grieving him? How can Taemin accept death when he never even told Jongin that he loved him out loud?  
  
It takes a while, but eventually the back door of the house opens, letting out a soft creak as someone approaches. Taemin doesn’t bother looking up. Whoever is joining him sits down on the bench beside him, a few respectful inches between them.  
  
“You don’t want to leave,” says a warm, low voice.  
  
Taemin casts a sideways glance at Minho, whose strangely sorrowful eyes are fixed on Taemin’s in the dark. Taemin shrugs one shoulder and looks back down in discomfort. “How’d you guess?” he asks, half-sarcastic.  
  
Minho laughs. Not cruelly, but almost sympathetic. “No one does,” he explains. “Everyone comes through here with a tether, like your cap. It binds them to the living world, whether it’s a gift from a loved one or just a favored item. Usually, the tethers aren’t strong enough to block out memories for longer than a night, but yours is strong. Fueled by remorse, or some unfinished business.”  
  
Taemin has the acute sense of being seen, being horribly and utterly perceived. He shudders and fights down the urge to lash out. Instead, he loosens his grip on the cap and looks out into the woods. The shadows between the trees seem to dance and shift, as if holding some unknowable depths that Taemin might access if he simply walked deeper. It doesn’t look frightful, but Taemin knows he isn’t quite ready to know what lies beyond.  
  
“My best friend gave me this,” Taemin says, lifting the cap slightly. “I never told him how I felt about him. He — he watched me die, held my corpse, and I still didn’t tell him.”  
  
Minho sucks in a breath through his nose. “The way you worry over that cap, I’m sure he knew.”  
  
Taemin is so overwhelmed by sudden and deep grief that his spine bows and he catches his head in his hands as he slumps forward. Minho sets a comforting hand on Taemin’s back, rubbing soothing circles as Taemin breathes harshly. The cap is still in his left hand, and he can smell distinctly the memory of old sweat and warm fabric and his favorite shampoo. Did Jongin know? In those last moments, when all Taemin wanted was to hold Jongin’s hand one more time, to reassure him that it would be alright, did he know?  
  
“I can’t go,” Taemin mutters. His breathing is closer to wheezing, fear in his chest and flooding into his limbs. “I can’t leave him.”  
  
Minho pulls Taemin closer into an awkward sideways hug. Taemin doesn’t protest, instead reaching out and gripping Minho’s offered hand hard. He still can’t cry, but if he could he knows he’d be sobbing uncontrollably. The rough kind of sobbing that makes his words break apart and his hands tingle.  
  
“I can’t leave him,” Taemin repeats. In his mind’s eye, all he can picture is Jongin. Jongin at his funeral, still recovering from his own wounds. Jongin in his bedroom still in his funeral suit, crying because his best friend is gone. Jongin, going to college without him, or staying home and grieving his life away. Taemin knows that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be able to move on in life. Or worse yet, Jongin might forget Taemin’s face except for how he looks in pictures. “I need to… I need to see him,” Taemin gasps out, half-pleading. “I need to talk to him, just to — just to tell him. I need him to know…”  
  
Minho shushes him, pulls him closer. Taemin gives up on words and focuses instead on breathing until the nauseating hysteria fades into a tight pit in his stomach. Taemin relaxes against Minho’s side, curling his cap into his chest and clenching his jaw around a frustrated growl. He sighs harshly instead.  
  
“Maybe I shouldn’t say this,” Minho starts, “But Key might be able to help you with that.”  
  
Taemin lifts his head tentatively, and Minho releases him. Taemin straightens up, feeling drained. “Help?” he asks uselessly.  
  
Minho grimaces, but doesn’t withhold. “He has the ability to commune with the living world. Not drastically, but he might be able to help you tell your friend how you really feel. If it would help you move on, I’m sure you could convince him.”  
  
It sounds too good to be true. But Taemin will take any sliver of hope at this point. He just needs Jongin to know. It hurts too much to consider anything else.  
  
“Please,” Taemin begs, “Please help me convince him. I’ll move on immediately after, I just need to see Jongin once before I go.”  
  
Minho looks conflicted, but he’s already offered, and he must know he can’t back out now. He nods once, gaze hardening with determination. “Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #taem is the big sad  
> #but i can't let him suffer too long  
> #he gets that lil spark of hope at the end  
> #also i'm a slut for minho bein a big comforting boi  
> #he protecc tiny taem  
> #thank god  
> #someone has to  
> #also key isn't an asshole  
> #i promise taem is just upset  
> #we see more of key next chapter  
> #and more of jonghyun in the final chapter  
> #just wanted to give y'all a sneak peek  
> #love you guys!!  
> #thanks for reading

**Author's Note:**

> #this fic starts out real confusing and makes more sense as it goes along  
> #i love this one so so much  
> #it's been in the works for a literal year and is finally getting done  
> #all thanks to my best friend El  
> #assume all these fic ideas have been run thru El as a filter  
> #follow them at monxiu on tumblr if u wanna see a fuckton of exo content


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